A Family Affair
by Rhianwen
Summary: A Magical Melodies story. Chapter 3: In which Dia tries to figure out the great big headache that is Jamie, and gets some help from an unexpected source. Chapter 3 rewritten, now with sixty percent less sucktitude!
1. Chapter 1

A Family Affair

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Summary: A Magical Melodies story. Sometimes, what doesn't kill us makes us stronger. Unfortunately, Meet the Parents Day has been known to kill many a stronger man than Alex.

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Alex stood on the doorstep of the Blue Sky Ranch, one fist raised and inches from the heavy wood of the door, frozen in utter terror.

This was ending up one of those things that seem like a good idea at the time, but closer inspection proves to be extremely unwise.

If he was going to do it, now would be the time; he had just received word from Martha that Ellen was in the Café with her, and he had just seen Blue outside in the fields, while experience told him that Hank would be inside at the front counter, alone.

He might not get another opportunity this perfect for weeks.

And the Blue Feather _was_ burning a hole in his pocket.

Had been, right from the day he'd climbed that damned mountain to get it, leaving these painful scrapes and bruises all over his arms and legs.

And forehead; it had been a bad day.

But easily worth it, for a girl who had been like a sweet little sister to him almost from the moment he'd been scared to death when a particularly noisy cow had startled him out of deep thought while on a walk through town, and he'd noticed a madly giggling little brunette perched on the fence a few feet away.

A strange way to make a new friend, but from that day, she had made grudging peace with the concept of doctors, and he found himself more and more often wandering past the Blue Sky Ranch, in hopes of a cheerful shout from the pasture, and a little brown and yellow and red streak bounding over the fence, apron strings flying the breeze.

By the time an inkling had finally come to him that she was something significantly more than a dear friend, he'd already been so deeply in love with her that Theodore had been twinklingly unsurprised when he showed up at the manor and requested permission to go after the feather.

All that time and worry would go to waste if his courage failed him now.

Not to mention, he'd never be able to look Gina in the eye if he returned to her joyfully expectant _so you did it_, only to confess that no, he had bolted like a scared little bunny-rabbit at the last second. He was becoming increasingly afraid that his sweet, warm-harted little assistant, recently engaged and so happily so that she was anxious for everyone to experience the same joy, would eventually make good on her threat to march straight over to the Blue Sky Ranch and do it herself, if he didn't get it done soon.

Knowing Ellen, she would giggle madly over it, and consider it a wonderful story to tell their children someday. _Daddy was so scared to propose to Mommy, that he had his nurse do it for him! _And then, just to tease him, she would probably march a startled Gina back to the Clinic and tell him, feigning tears of joy, that she and Gina were to be married, and she wanted him for best man.

And while it might be interesting to see if Kurt's protective instinct extended to other _women_ flirting with Gina, the whole thing would lead to far more embarrassment than he particularly wanted right now.

Best to just do it himself. Hadn't he been long aware of the universal truth that if a man wanted something in this old world, he just had to reach out and take it? Grab at the pert little bow at the back of her apron, and hope that it might be somehow attached to the rest of her clothes in a way that would send them all sliding to the floor.

So, perhaps that was something more specific to his case, but nevertheless, he would never have the nerve to propose to her if he couldn't even summon up the spine to ask her father for permission to do so.

And so, here he went. No more stalling.

Five motionless minutes on the doorstep later, Alex prepared to turn back toward the path away from the farmhouse, praying that maybe Hank was non-traditional enough to forgive him for leaping right to proposing to Ellen.

Or at least, that he might be drunk enough at the time their engagement was announced that he would neither understand, nor care.

Just as the dark-haired young man, nerves almost audibly snapping, turned away from the door, it swung open, and a loud, cheerful sort of grunt made him leap back with a terrified shriek.

"Hey there, Doc," Hank greeted in his friendly, rustic manner, so down-to-earth as to be nearly subterranean. "What's yer business here today?"

"I, ah, had something I'd like to discuss with you, Hank," Alex tried to say resolutely, hoping that perhaps a little lunch-hour imbibing had already made Hank unable to notice the quiver in his voice. "It's about Ellen."

Hank's smile vanished as he recalled all the trips his daughter had been taking to the Clinic lately.

"She's not sick, is she?"

"No, no, nothing like that!" Alex assured him hurriedly. "Listen, I have to ask you something, but I'd rather not ask out here."

Bushy eyebrows nearly bristling with curiosity, Hank escorted the town's young doctor inside and shut the door.

"Take a seat, Doc," he said cordially, gesturing to one of the three chairs set at the kitchen table.

Alex sat accordingly, and gave a startled yelp as something sharp sent a jolt of discomfort through him. With an expression of annoyed confusion, he reached under him and pulled out what appeared to be a pair of clippers.

Hank laughed uproariously.

"Thanks, Doc, I been lookin' for those!"

Alex whimpered slightly. This would be a long afternoon.

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Fifteen minutes later had not disappointed.

As much as young Alex liked his intended father-in-law, and ordinarily enjoyed his easy, relaxed, meandering way of telling a story, at this moment, when he was (hopefully) minutes away from revealing just how badly he wanted to make the aforementioned intended father-in-law's little girl a woman, it was grating, to say the least.

"…Then the silly cow, in labour, just laid right down at the top of the hill, and gave us this look, _if you want this calf, you come and get it_," Hank finished with a chuckle and a wistful shake of the head at the sweet memories. "That was when Molly was still alive, Harvest Goddess rest her. Lord, I thought she'd never stop laughing. She had the prettiest laugh."

"You must have loved her very much," Alex said lamely. This was the most earnest he had ever seen Hank about anything.

"I still do."

"Does Ellen resemble her mother?"

Hank laughed.

"Ellen's the prettiest little girl for three counties; d'you think she got it from _me_?"

"I'm sure your wife thought you were perfect."

"Well, I was a damn sight prettier in those days," Hank sighed. "Nothin' like you, Doc, but not like this."

Alex said nothing. Hank chuckled.

"Sorry, Doc, you were here to talk about something something."

The young man drew in a deep, resolute breath and straightened up in his chair.

"Mr. Gallagher, may I have your permission to marry your daughter?"

Hank watched his guest for a long moment, expression inscrutable.

_He's going to kill me_, Alex thought resignedly. _He's going to grab those clippers, and clip me into tiny bits._

The older man, meanwhile, was rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

"I'll be honest with you, Doc. I've never been much for the idea of a father _giving away_ his daughter, like she was cattle."

"Uh..."

"So you'd best be asking Ellen, not me. Shoot, _I_ don't wanna marry you," he grinned.

Alex gave a weak little laugh, and Hank slapped him between the shoulder blades.

"And if I know my little girl, there'll be wedding bells before long."

With his first genuine smile in what felt like days of agonizing worry of _will she, won't she, will she, won't she, _the dark-haired young man took his future father-in-law's hand and gave it a firm shake.

"Thank-you, Sir."

Hank suppressed a laugh at the boy's formality.

"Glad I could help, Son. Whiskey?"

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It was several hours later, after a long, giggly gabfest with Katie and Lyla – and unexpectedly, Dia – had finally come to a close, that a little brunette in the plain garb of a ranch-girl but with beautiful big brown eyes, snuck back into the farmhouse, wincing in expectation of the talking-to she would get for disappearing for so long without giving Papa any indication of where she was disappearing _to_.

Time had just got away from her; to the end of her days, Ellen would swear that the Callaway Cafe had some kind of time warp thingie existing around it, where you could stay a few minutes, and when you went back outside, hours had passed.

And then, Dia had been so anxious to keep her there today. It was strange; normally, she was so quiet, but every now and again, she would feel a desperate need for social interaction.

And since Katie, Lyla, and Ellen were all _far_ more than willing to oblige on that front, an hour had turned to two, then three, then five, before Carl's easygoing nature had finally given out and he had prodded his pretty girlfriend into sending all her pals home so they could finish closing up.

Tiptoeing through the main room of the shop, Ellen stopped short in the doorway to the kitchen, and stared at the curious sight before her.

There, passed out cold at the kitchen table, which seemed to contain an empty bottle of whisky, was her father – which was not generally so curious, although his doing it at home instead of at Duke's was a little strange – and Alex, the young town doctor, who disapproved of excessive drinking in others, and _really_ disapproved of _any_ drinking in himself.

Alex's arm was draped over her father's back, and his other hand tightly clutched a bottle of beer. His face was slightly smushed against the table, and Ellen spent a difficult moment veering wildly between wincing in sympathy at how much his back was going to hurt when he woke up, or giggling quietly at how cute and silly he looked.

It was nice to see him looking relaxed – he'd been so tense for the last few days about _something_, and he wouldn't even let her rub his shoulders for him. He jumped a foot in the air when she tried! And neither Gina nor Dia, or even _Martha_, would tell what it was all about, even though she _knew_ they all had to know _something_.

Well, for now, she would leave her two favourite men in the whole world to sleep. She gave Papa a quick kiss on the cheek, and leaned over to repeat the process with her _special new best friend_, when a flash of something blue caught her eye.

Very carefully, she lifted the edge of his lab coat, and barely suppressed a squeal of joy as the silky tip of a Blue Feather was revealed.

Then, as he stirred slightly and murmured, before falling still and silent again, she quickly let his coat fall back into place, and scurried upstairs to wait.

Hopefully, he wouldn't make her wait _too_ long.

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End Notes: Hi!

Also, the plan at the moment is for two more chapters, each focussing on a different bizarro (yet fiendishly cute) alt-pairing, whether or not that will end up happening in the face of either my extreme wordiness, or equally extreme laziness.


	2. Chapter 2

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It was just the sort of day for this, Gina thought happily, letting her little wicker basket lined in blue gingham swing merrily at her side.

Ordinarily, she loved the work Alex trusted her with at the Clinic, filling prescriptions, ordering supplies, light receptionist work sometimes, insurance forms, and anything else that he might have, but it was such a beautiful, sunny afternoon, and as the doctor himself had told her laughingly before he had left on his _special, top-secret mission_ to the Ranch, it would be nearly a crime to waste it indoors.

Suppressing a happy squeal at the thought of that _special, top-secret mission_ and the possibility of a double wedding, the little nurse settled her basket into the grass as a patch of deep purple herbs caught her eye.

Would Kurt agree to something like that – being married _with_ Alex and Ellen?

Because of course Ellen would accept; who _wouldn't_ love Gina's very favourite older-brother-who-wasn't-really? And this girl in particular had spent an awful lot of time lately, making sure that her hair was at least _tidy_, if not pretty, and her plain little skirts and blouses likewise, when she happened to notice him coming. Even though more people than Alex had been known to sigh in exasperation when Ellen described herself as being quite apart from the _pretty_ girls.

Gina had just tucked a little bundle of green underneath the handkercheif, when a sharp, rhythmic _thwack, thwack, thwack_ drew her attention into a little clearing.

As Woody looked up from his chopping and called a cheerful hello, she blushed and shrank back slightly.

The bespectacled little nurse liked to think that she was well able to maintain a friendly demeanour toward people of all ages and backgrounds – after all, how on earth would she be able to put them at ease if she couldn't talk easily to them? And for the most part, this demeanour was enough of a reality that most of the town would manage to come for a check-up with only minor prodding from the doctor and his faithful little assistant.

Woody, though, was a different story entirely.

Being generally a very healthy man, Fate had not thrown him much into the path of his youngest apprentice's bride-to-be. Thus, she had yet to become entirely comfortable around him. And as Woody hated above most things to be gawked at by terrified little girls, her hesitation had brought out a hint of surliness in his usually gruff-but-friendly manner, which had served to augment her nervousness, and thus had the cycle continued.

And then there was the issue of his opinion on doctors and Clinics as a general rule.

Nearly as proud of his excellent health as of his excellent craftsmanship, the few times that had seen him at the Clinic since Gina's arrival in Flowerbud Village had seen him also in an exceedingly bad mood about it, as it had usually come about when Martha had finally taken it into her own hands to drag him there _by the seat of his stubborn old pants_.

Nevertheless, alienating this extremely important part of her husband's social circle before the wedding could even take place was likely unwise.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Woody," she called back with a smile and a little wave.

With one final swing, he planted the axe deep in the tree stump that acted as a platform, and laughed.

"Please, Miss, no _misters_. You'll give me the impression that I'm getting old!"

Nodding slowly and hesitantly, Gina surveyed grizzled hair and leathery, lined face, and searched helplessly for an appropriate response. Not to mention, some inkling of whether she was allowed to laugh or not.

Noticing, he took pity on her and continued with a grin.

"I _am_, of course, but I like to keep it quiet, and I don't want word getting out."

"Just in case Martha drags you back to the Clinic for another check-up?" Gina suggested with a giggle, and then clapped her hands over her mouth with a little squeak of horror.

Woody stared incredulously for a long moment, then laughed ringingly.

"Something like that," he agreed after a long moment, shaking his head and still chuckling. "Martha's a good woman.Some men need to be trampled like that or they'll never get anywhere. She just happens to apply the same strategies to all men, while some of us don't need it."

"Like Kurt," she added with a dreamy, very sweet little smile, and Woody grinned.

"Exactly like Kurt. The harder you push that boy when he's got a notion into his noodle, the more he locks up and fights it. But," he continued, his grin widening as her jaw tightened and her chin lifted just a little bit, "I get the feeling that you're no pushover either."

"I think life will be very interesting. I only hope he doesn't get tired of me," she finished with a tiny sigh.

Woody, who had just taken a long swig from a nearby water bottle, choked at this, a fine mist spraying from his mouth. Gina did her best not to flinch back and grimace as she found herself directly in the stream. The old man tossed the bottle back to the grass and wiped his mouth, shaking his head in disbelief.

"You kidding me? He's had his head in the clouds almost since the first time you got lost and ended up at the Workshop. He gets this grin every time he sees a pair of glasses, and he's been a damn sight happier about going for a checkup than me or his brother."

"I suppose," she agreed cautiously. Then she threw back her shoulders and beamed. "Can I help you with that?"

He stared blankly.

"With what?"

"You were chopping wood. I'd like to help, if you'll let me."

He shook his head again with a chuckle.

"I don't know, Gina. It's messy, and pretty boring."

"I just thought, it might be a good idea to get some sense of what Kurt does all day," she explained, blushing and ducking slightly behind her hand. "You know, aside from the time I came over on Wednesday and watched until you sent me home after he almost cut off Joe's foot."

Woody hid a grin.

"You'll make him a good, supportive, doting little wife. I guess that'll match the good, supportive, doting little husband. Although, I don't know that he'll be showing up at the Clinic any time soon, asking Alex to let him mix up some pills." He shrugged as she continued to peek up at him hopefully. "Well, if you really want to, I guess I wouldn't mind a hand. It's certainly not _my_ favourite job. But you can't do it in that. I'll get you some old things of Kurt's."

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"Ah, you know, Gina," Woody called delicately approximately ten minutes and a few dainty little thwacks later, "you don't have to tap at it like you're afraid of breaking it. You _want_ it to break, remember?"

She grinned sheepishly over her shoulder at him, and he gave a laugh of disbelief that this was the same prim, immaculate little creature, every hair in place and apron neatly tied, that had arrived with her herb basket half an hour ago. Now garbed in some old jeans from Kurt's early adolescence, pooling a bit at the ankles but clinging tightly everywhere else in testament to just what a skinny little guy Kurt had been at fourteen, an equally ancient flannel shirt from Woody's own drawer, and her hair tied up in a quick, messy ponytail with a bit of twine to save her pretty little silk ribbons from utter destruction, she bore little resemblance to Flowerbud's shy little nurse.

"I'm sorry, Woody. I haven't done this in years."

He raised an eyebrow in disbelief, and she blushed.

"W-well, alright, ever. But I used to watch the groundskeeper at the Gevora's mansion chopping wood, and it looked a lot easier than this."

With a long-suffering sigh, Woody shook his head again and invited her with a gesture to try once more.

Hefting the axe once more over her shoulder, Gina pulled back and let it swing, only to panic at the last second, stop it inches above the wood, and take a few more hesitant, completely ineffective little taps before the block of wood tipped over. He bit back a laugh as the axe-weilding little nurse leapt back with a startled shriek.

"Come on, girl, I've seen you carry Joe over your shoulder without breaking a sweat. I'm sure you've got a little more strength in those scrawny arms than that."

"Scrawny," she repeated, glaring slightly.

"Prove me wrong," he suggested with a shrug.

Lips tightening into a thin, stubborn line again, Gina set the block of wood back up, drew back, sent the blade hurtling down at a dizzying speed...

...directly into the stump, right _next_ to the block of would-be firewood.

"Ohh, I'm terrible at this!" she wailed, tugging at the axe. "How do you do it so easily?"

"Sixty years of experience," he replied very slowly and deliberately.

She looked up abruptly.

"Sixty! You can't be _that_ old; you must have been a child when you started!"

"Started working with my dad and granddad at eight," he shrugged. "It was a family business, so all of us had a hand. None of my brothers took much to it, so I didn't have a whole lot of competition. Never had any sons of my own, so that's where those two goofballs come in. I'm hoping to see them take it over for me when I get too old to swing an axe."

"But that won't be for _years _yet," Gina assured him with a shy little smile.

"Well, not until Kurt can have you around while he works and not put someone's limbs in danger," Woody chuckled. "But I have to hand it to him: at least he's still working. At the first sight of that Katie's ringlets and pretty eyes, Joe's out the door."

"That's sweet," she giggled.

"Yeah, well, we were all young dunderheads in love once."

"I promise I'll be the best wife I can for Kurt."

"I know, kiddo." He grinned again. "As long as you cook better than you handle an axe, you two'll get along fine."

"That's mean," she huffed, finally giving up on extracting the axe from the stump, and crossing her arms.

"I'm a crusty, grumpy, disagreeable old coot; what'd you expect?" he demanded, eyes twinkling nevertheless.

She gave another little _hmph_, although this time fighting back a smile, and made one more ill-fated attempt at splitting the log into kindling.

This time, the blade connected soundly with the wood, unfortunately very close to the edge of the log, which sent all but a splinter shooting off of the stump, which in turn sent Woody diving for cover.

"Alright, that's enough," he announced as he picked himself up off the ground and tugged the axe out of her hand. "Let's just go inside and have some tea before you hurt someone."

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Meanwhile, two young men a few metres away stared, frozen in place.

"Whoa," Joe finally noted. "She really sucks at that."

"Uh-huh," Kurt agreed automatically, without any very clear idea of what his brother had just said, eyes fixed firmly on the way his old jeans clung to his soon-to-be-wife's subtle curves, and the mass of silverblue coming free from its length of twine.

"She looks cute with her hair down, though," the older boy continued, exaggeratedly thoughtful, sneaking a quick peek at his younger brother's dazed expression.

"Uh-huh."

"You know the other thing I noticed, Kurt? I think she's in league with a band of dangerous, yet sexy space vixens that plan to take over Flowerbud Village."

"Uh-huh."

Joe laughed.

"Okay, Kurt, if you're not gonna listen, do _you_ have something to add?"

Kurt, apparently, did.

"Man...I wonder if we could get the wedding date moved up."

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End Notes: Hee! That is all. Just hee.


	3. Chapter 3

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First of all, it was necessary to understand that Dia did _not_ mope.

Moping, she thought quite decidedly, was for passive girls who considered the situation hopeless, giving up without a struggle, and sighing mournfully over what could have been without acting to change anything.

Like Gina, who had spent the better parts of her courtship with Kurt absolutely _certain_ that he only liked her because she reminded him of the baby sister he didn't actually have, or because he liked being around such a good listener, even though he hardly ever talked.

Poor, sweet, oblivious Gina, who wouldn't catch a hint if it fell on her, and totally overlooked the dark-haired young woodsman's eyes lighting up whenever they met hers, his shy, goofy little grin whenever they spoke, his mysteriously showing up at the Sanitarium every opportunity and lurking around the first floor watching her work, as _just being nice_.

How a girl could constantly score top of her class in science and mathematics courses all through their school years, and score _almost_ as well as her in literature and history courses, but be so entirely clueless where her own love life was concerned, Dia would never understand.

But love Gina as she might, Dia did _not_ want to emulate her in this matter, and thus would protest to the end of her days that she had not been _moping_.

_Sulking_ would do in a pinch, although it didn't sound quite right. _Sulking_ always seemed to her to have a distinct sound of a grumpy old man annoyed at something and taking out his annoyance on everyone else.

She, on the other hand, was keeping her annoyance firmly to herself. In self-defense, really; although a spate of men-bashing with Gina, Katie and Ellen might be fun, she knew that if Martha found them, the old lady would smile and chuckle and shake her head until Dia sent a large heavy object sailing across the room at her head.

Anyway, it might hurt Alex's feelings if _he_ found them, and after he had been so wonderful with Ellen, deciding that he wanted to marry her and just going ahead and _doing_ it without the silly denial issues so common to young men, she felt that neither she nor Gina _really_ wanted to make their favourite _big brother_, their friend that they loved next-best to each other, upset.

_Pouting_ was a little better; she knew that she had been guilty of such a thing once or twice before in her life. This time brought it out to a well rounded _three_.

Although, quite apart from pouting because her mother was out of town and couldn't come to see her star in the school play _again_, or because Gina was meeting with her French tutor that evening and couldn't come with her to a particularly terrifying doctor's appointment, this was the pouting of a young female, still a _girl_ more than a _woman_ at times, whose _special someone_ was being absolutely impossible to deal with.

Flopping back on the soft feather bed that Gina protested, horrified, she _had_ to bring with her when she had announced her intentions of leaving it home and sleeping in a cot instead (because "I think that being _comfortable_ is _very_ important to recovering your health, Dia"), she hugged her pillow tightly and pouted more emphatically at the ceiling.

Who was it that said _women_ had mood swings? Obviously a man, Dia thought scornfully, and obviously a man who had never met Jamie.

About three seasons ago, while wandering through the forested area up past the Workshop (ideally with Gina, but abandoned as soon as Kurt had noticed their approach and raced out to abduct her best friend for a while), Dia had run into the strange, quiet young man.

And strange and quiet he had been, nevertheless agreeing reluctantly to let her help him look for herbs and berries – just, of course, for something to do while Gina was busily falling head-first for Kurt and his pretty dark eyes.

Initial reluctance aside, Dia was to this day certain that she had caught Jamie watching her scour the ground closely, with a bit of a smile.

The second and third time she had run into him, her motives had been less in the interest of keeping busy and more in the interest of seeing that smile again, and his reluctance had been a little less to take her on another of their rambles through the forest.

The fourth time, instead of running into him, she had come downstairs at Gina's somehow unobtrusive shout up the stairs and stopped in surprise to find Jamie lurking in the doorway, asking with a cautious, carefully grumpy hopefulness if she'd care for a walk.

She had wondered at the time why it made strange things happen to her stomach, but Dia was a smart girl, at it had only taken about two seasons after that to start thinking of Jamie in terms of _love_ instead of _like_.

And for a time, she had been comfortably certain that he agreed on this point; certainly, he seemed to smile a lot more than she had ever seen him do, and he had forgiven her without a thought, even scolding the poor spooked little animal for being underfoot, when she had jumped back, startled by one chicken, directly onto another.

But ever since Alex and Ellen and Kurt and Gina's wedding (a phrase which took a little explaining to outsiders), he had been acting so strangely.

Even _at_ the wedding, he had seemed happy enough, clasping her hand tightly in his own throughout the ceremony and dancing with her until her cheeks were flushed with exertion.

But then, one simple, silly little thing had ruined his mood, not just for the evening, but for the fourteen days and counting, following it.

Why on earth, she wondered angrily, punching the unfortunate pillow roughly, would he get so upset just because she had caught Ellen's bouquet, and then Gina's garter had sailed across the room to land effortlessly around his ear like a ring-toss post? Did he really put any _faith_ in those silly superstitions? Because goodness knew, _she_ wasn't in any hurry to be the next bride and make him the next groom.

Even as she thought it, her pout turned guilty at the slight inkling that, had this been strictly true, she would have hunted him up and reassured him days ago that she wasn't trying to rush him. But the more she thought about it, the more appealing the idea became of waking up next to him each morning, watching him breathe deeply in slumber, that beautiful bright silky purple hair spilling over the pillow, and…um, things below the shoulder looking very nice, too.

And so, since she could be _subtle _when the occasion requested but disliked _lying_, she couldn't very well talk him out of his panic-fuelled sulks with a reassuring speech about _I don't want to get married yet, anyway_.

Which led directly to the situation, which, in turn, led to Dia pouting emphatically up at the ceiling.

"You know, if the wind changes, your face might stay like that."

Sitting abruptly bolt upright at the laughing, musical voice, Dia hugged her pillow closer like a shield, eyes darting quickly around the room.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" the voice laughed again. "I didn't mean to scare you."

And in a swirling flash of warm white light, a woman appeared, seated comfortably at the foot of the bed, long thick braid of soft purple hair pooling at Dia's pretty velvet comforter, similarly coloured robes draped artfully around a lovely, softly rounded form, features very sweet and very beautiful.

"What is this?" Dia demanded, trying for stern outrage and achieving instead a sort of endearing, cringing fear.

In a moment, the woman was up from the bed, wrapping a comforting arm around the terrified girl.

"Shh, sweetie, it's okay. I'm here to talk to you about a young man named Jamie."

"Jamie?" Dia echoed, following the mysterious visitor to the little table and sofa visiting area she and Gina had had such fun setting up. "You know Jamie?"

"Very well," the woman giggled behind her hand. "Well enough to know all about the special young lady who's stolen his heart."

Dia blushed.

"He—he told you that?"

"I've heard all about you, Miss Dia. And you're just as lovely as he said," she finished with a teasing smile, eyes sparkling.

"I wouldn't have thought he'd have told you anything of the sort, with the way he's been acting lately," the dark-haired girl huffed, cheeks still flushed beautifully.

The woman sighed.

"Oh, Jamie." She shook her head briefly, and then smiled sweetly at the younger girl. "Why don't you tell me how the two of you met?"

"I thought he told you _all about me_," Dia reminded her, one eyebrow lifting slightly.

"Of course he has, but I want to hear it from you." She giggled. "Girls always tell far better stories. The way Jamie told it, he was out looking for herbs, and he met a girl who was kind of nice."

The green-eyed girl stared blankly for a few seconds, then rolled her eyes slightly, nevertheless fighting back a little smile.

"Be still, my beating heart."

"You know Jamie; when he actually told me your name, and said you were one of the girls at the Sanitarium, the pretty one with the dark hair who wore a lot of green, I wondered if he would ever stop talking."

"I suppose he's making up for it now," Dia huffed, chin in her hand. "He hasn't spoken to me since Ellen and Alex and Kurt and Gina's wedding. He runs away whenever he sees me."

"Ah. I'm assuming this is the wedding where you caught your friend's bouquet, and he ended up wearing a garter on his head."

"Did he tell you about that, too?" Dia asked, incredulous and trying very hard to fight off just a wee bit of envy that this beautiful woman had so much of Jamie's confidence, while she fought to get more than a few words out of him.

The woman hesitated.

"I--I have something of an instinct for what's bothering him."

The younger girl regarded her hopefully.

"Do you know _why_ it's bothering him so much?"

The strange woman sighed again.

"Listen, Dia, you have to understand that Jamie is scared to death right now. He isn't acting like this because he doesn't care. I don't think you know just how much he cares."

"Oh, come on now, who would be afraid of _me_?" Dia demanded impatiently. "I'm not exactly a terrifying powerhouse."

The woman across from her hid a smile.

"He's not afraid of _you_, so much as he's afraid of hurting you. Perhaps Jamie has told you that he strongly believes in loving oneself before loving another becomes possible?"

Dia nodded hesitantly; he hadn't, but it sounded so much like him that she felt as though he might as well have. The beautiful lavender-haired woman continued, expression solemn.

"I don't think he's quite reached that point yet. I think he wants very badly to spend the rest of his life with you, but he doesn't want to risk the possibility that he isn't ready to love and support another person. You're far too precious to him to risk your feelings that way."

"But Jamie is amazing! He's brilliant, and kind, and beautiful!" Dia blurted before she could stop herself, straightening up abruptly. "He couldn't hurt me by loving me, and if he did, I would still love him anyway, and wait until things got better, because he couldn't be _cruel_ if he tried!"

"I know, sweetheart," the woman assured her softly, moving closer and resting a gentle hand at Dia's hair. "But _Jamie_ needs to know it too."

"Shall I tell him?"

"I don't think it would do much good. I strongly suspect that he isn't going to accept it until he's good and ready."

"How can I make him accept it?"

"I'm afraid you can't, Dia. All you can do is stay near him, and remind him in little ways that you think he already is the person he was meant to be."

"I suppose that doesn't include pouting at him because he's avoiding me," Dia sighed with a sheepish little smile.

"Possibly not," the lavender-haired woman agreed with a grin. "Although, I would say that he had that coming. But just try to show him you love him in your own way, because you've already done far more for him than you know. And in the meantime," she continued as Dia blushed and tried to fight back a wide smile bordering on giddy, "I'll see if I can't talk some sense into him."

Dia nodded her agreement, and smothered a yawn, wondering at this sudden weariness, and sent the older woman a sleepy smile as she snuggled back in her chair, eyelids already drooping shut

The Harvest Goddess smiled fondly at the young lady as she rose from her chair. Slipping silently around behind Dia's chair, she rested one hand for a moment at the girl's hair, dark and silky cool, then dropped a light kiss at her forehead, and faded slowly from sight amid a glow of soft purple.

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"Uh, hi," Jamie greeted several afternoons later, after Dia's strange but strangely lovely dream of the beautiful woman had begun to fade from her memory. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, awkward and a wee bit sullen, as the young woman stopped short in the act of opening the Sanitarium door and stared in bewilderment. "Are you busy right now?"

"I think I might be able to spare a moment," she replied, affecting indifference. "Why?"

"Do you want to go for a walk somewhere?"

Indifference faded into a shy little grin and a faint pink flush. Jamie felt his own face grow hot.

"Alright, let's go," Dia finally agreed, joining him on the front stoop and closing the door behind her.

After about five minutes of companionable silence, Jamie spoke up so abruptly that the little dark-haired girl at his side jumped.

"I've been acting like a jerk. Sorry."

"It's okay, Jamie," she assured him, giving his hand a little squeeze. _You know I probably couldn't stay angry with you if I wanted to, you sulky little brat._

"Not really," he snorted, then stopped walking and pulled her gently to a stop and off to the side of the mountain path. "I didn't mean to freeze up on you like that, and it would probably serve me right if you didn't want to see me again."

She fixed him with a stern eye.

"I'm not a _child_, you know; I'm hardly that sensitive."

"I guess I just got scared," he shrugged. "It kind of seemed like all the weddings were putting you in the mood to get married right away."

She smiled gently, and brushed one hand over his cheek, the back of her mind leaping to immediate attention. Wasn't that almost exactly what the woman in her dream said?

"But if you don't want to, you don't want to. I'm not trying to push you into anything, Jamie."

"I know. That's why I feel kind of stupid now, acting like some pea-brained teenager whining on his blog."

She looked at him sharply.

"You have a blog?"

He reddened.

"Y-yeah, kind of."

"Can I read it?"

He gave a weak little chuckle.

"That might be a good test. You can read my blog, and see if I'm still the kind of person you want to marry."

She laughed, and two little pink spots appeared at his cheeks again as his stomach did a little flip at her eyes, warm and starry.

They continued down the path, and he tried not to notice the shy little glances she was sneaking him.

"Um, Jamie?" she finally asked tentatively.

"Yeah?"

"What--what convinced you to come talk to me again? Did you _just_ realize that you were being silly, or was there something else too?"

He hesitated.

"It's kind of embarrassing, but someone kind of...knocked some sense into me."

At this, Dia looked up, recalling the beautiful woman from her dream.

"Who was it?"

He reddened, looking down and scuffing the toe of his workboot in the dirt.

"My mother."

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End Notes: Darnit, this part sounded so much better in my head! Oh, well. Jamie and Dia are still criminally cute together. And Jamie still looks freakishly like our own dear Goddess. So, I hope it worked well enough to get the point across, anyway.

And I think my initial intent was to make this one a lot longer, and sort of build more of a rapport between Dia and the good ol' HG. As it is I kind of suspect that Dia's become a little too trusting, a little too quickly. But, I'm justifying that (also: wussing out of rewriting it) because she's the _Harvest Goddess_. People kinda trust her. XD


End file.
